The Myth of Metaphor

By Colin Murray Turbayne

Colin Murray Turbayne (7 February 1916 – 16 May 2006) was an Australian philosopher, who spent most of his academic career at the University of Rochester, where he first had a position in 1957 and became professor emeritus in 1981. His doctorate was from the University of Pennsylvania. During World War II he had worked for Australian Intelligence, in the Pacific War theatre.

He was an authority on George Berkeley and was the first commentator to recognize the central importance of metaphor in the philosophy of Berkeley. He is best known for his book The Myth of Metaphor, published in 1962. In this book, Professor Turbayne argued that metaphor would necessarily occur in any language that could ever claim to embody richness and depth of understanding. In the early 1990s Colin M. Turbayne and his wife established an International Berkeley Essay Prize competition in cooperation with the Philosophy Department at the University of Rochester.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barakaldo Books
• Release date: May 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781839744389

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The Myth of Metaphor

By

COLIN MURRAY TURBAYNE

Table of Contents

Contents

Table of Contents 4

DEDICATION 5

List of Abbreviations 6

Introduction 7

PART ONE — FINDING THE METAPHOR 11

CHAPTER I — The Nature of Metaphor 11

1. Using Metaphor 11

2. Being Used by Metaphor 17

CHAPTER II — Analysis and Synthesis 23

1. Foreword 23

2. Analysis and Synthesis 24

3. Descartes 27

4. Newton 31

5. "The Sciences now have Masks on them" 34

6. "If the Masks were taken off..." 37

7. Replacing the Masks 38

CHAPTER III — New Metaphors for Old 39

1. Retrospect 39

2. Recognizing Hidden Metaphor 40

3. Presenting the Literal Truth 43

4. The Geometrical Model 46

5. The Linguistic Model 49

PART TWO — THE METAPHOR DESCRIBED AND APPLIED 51

CHAPTER IV — Ordinary Language 51

1 Signs 51

2. How Different Things Get the Same Names 52

3. Definitions 55

4. Necessary Connection 57

5. Understanding Words 61

6. Functions of language 63

7. Errors in Language 64

CHAPTER V — Visual Language 70

I. The Problem of Vision 70

2. The Linguistic Solution 73

3. The Visual and Tactual Square 82

4. Learning to See Situation, Size, and Distance 85

5. Conclusion: Visual Data and Mind-Facta 88

PART THREE — TESTING THE METAPHOR 95

CHAPTER VI — The History of Vision 95

1. Seventeenth-Century Theories 95

2. Classical Optics 101

CHAPTER VII — The Geometrical Model 106

1. Features of Geometrical Theories of Vision 106

2. Nativism and Empiricism 106

3. Ronchi’s Theory 106

CHAPTER VIII — Test Cases 106

1. The Barrovian Case 106

2. Ronchi’s Criticisms 106

3. The Horizontal Moon 106

4. The Inverted Retinal Image 106

Conclusion 106

1. Language or the Camera 106

2. Language or the Machine 106

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 106

DEDICATION

For my mother

ALICE EVA RENE TURBAYNE

and in memory of my father

DAVID LIVINGSTONE TURBAYNE

List of Abbreviations

BERKELEY’S WRITINGS

A Alciphron

E An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision

H Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous

I Introduction and Draft Introduction to

The Principles of Human Knowledge

P The Principles of Human Knowledge

PC Philosophical Commentaries

S Siris

V The Theory of Vision Vindicated and Explained

THE MYTH OF METAPHOR

Introduction

IN ORDER to illustrate the facts, to control them more effectively, to induce attitudes, or to inculcate ways of behavior, artists, philosophers, theologians, and scientists have used various devices. An extraordinarily successful one often used to illuminate areas that might otherwise have remained obscure is the model or metaphor. Its use involves the pretense that something is the case when it is not. Hobbes pretended that the state was a many-jointed monster or leviathan; Shakespeare that it was a hive of honey bees, Creatures that by a rule in nature teach the act of order to a peopled kingdom. Plato, however, presented the obscure facts of human nature as if they were luminous facts about the state. Descartes pretended that the mind in its body was the pilot of a ship; Locke that it was a room, empty at birth but full of furniture later; and Hume that it was a theatre. Theologians have pretended that the relation between God and man is that of father to son. Optical theorists have pretended that we see by geometry. Metal experts present the facts about metals that break after constant use as if they suffer fatigue, while physicists make believe at some times that light moves in waves, at others that it consists of corpuscles, in order to account for different observable facts in the motion of light.

Just as often, however, the pretense has been dropped, either by the pretenders or by their followers. There is a difference between using a metaphor and taking it literally, between using a model and mistaking it for the thing modeled. The one is to make believe that something is the case; the other is to believe that it is. The one is to use a disguise or mask for illustrative or explanatory purposes; the other is to mistake the mask for the face. Both the pretense and the mistake involve, in the words of Gilbert Ryle, the presentation of the facts belonging to one category in the idioms appropriate to another. Both thus involve the crossing of different sorts. But while the former is to represent the facts of one sort as if they belong to another, the latter is to claim that they actually belong. While the former adds nothing obviously to the actual process, the latter involves the addition of features that are the products of speculation or invention instead of discovery. It thus involves the insinuation of metaphysics. The juxtaposition of the titles metaphor and metaphysics in the pages of the Encyclopaedia Britannica has a significance richer than that intended by the editors.

The history of science may be treated from the point of view that it records attempts to place metaphysical disguises upon the faces of process and procedure. After the disguise or mask has been worn for a considerable time it tends to blend with the face, and it becomes extremely difficult to see through it. We can still penetrate the obvious masks like the Pilot, the Theatre, the Wave, and the Corpuscle. But in others the make-up is hidden. Ryle saw through the Ghost in the Machine, and may have laid it. Freud penetrated the Father-image. Some have lifted the disguises only to replace them with fresh ones. Of these some have been aware of what they were doing; others have been taken in by their own devices. Deluded to think that they were ejecting metaphysics, they were actually replacing metaphysical theories that they found disagreeable by others more agreeable to them.

Nevertheless, the crossings of different sorts often have great illustrative or explanatory value. It is not necessarily a confusion to present items belonging to one sort in the idioms appropriate to another. If it were, we should have to say that the making of every myth, of every new metaphor, and of almost every theory involved a confusion. On the other hand, it is a confusion to present the items of one sort in the idioms of another—without awareness. For to do this is not just to cross two different sorts; it is to confuse them. It is to mistake, for example, the theory for the fact, the procedure for the process, the myth for history, the model for the thing, and the metaphor for the face of literal truth. Accordingly, to expose a categorial confusion, to explode a myth, or to undress a hidden metaphor is not just to reallocate the items: it is to show that these sometimes valuable fusions are actually confusions. This is a large part of what I try to show in the following pages.

With this purpose, I try to explode the metaphysics of mechanism. This I do, first, by exposing mechanism as a case of being victimized by metaphor, Descartes and Newton I choose as excellent examples of metaphysicians of mechanism malgré eux, that is to say, as unconscious victims of the metaphor of the great machine. These two great sort-crossers of our modern epoch have so imposed their arbitrary allocation of the facts upon us that it has now entered the coenesthesis of the entire Western World. Together they have founded a church, more powerful than that founded by Peter and Paul, whose dogmas are now so entrenched that anyone who tries to reallocate the facts is guilty of more than heresy; he is opposing scientific truth. For the accepted allocation is now identified with science. All this is so in spite of the meager opposition offered by the theologians, a few poets, and fewer philosophers, who, in general, have been victimized by their own metaphors to the same degree as their rivals. They have opposed one metaphysics, done without awareness, by another. They have been operating on the wrong level.

Secondly, I try to show that the metaphysics of mechanism can be dispensed with. The best way to do this is to show that it is only a metaphor; and the best way to show this is to invent a new metaphor. I therefore treat the events in nature as if they compose a language, in the belief that the world may be treated just as well, if not better, by making believe that it is a universal language instead of a giant clockwork. But my purpose in presenting the language metaphor is not so much to build as to destroy, not so much to plant flowers as to pull up weeds. I present the language metaphor not because I want to make a new myth in the hope that, although the generation to whom it is first told cannot possibly believe it, the next may, and the generations after. I present it in order to begin to show: first, that there is a remedy against the domination imposed, not by generals, statesmen, and men of action, whose power dissolves when they retire, but by the great sort-crossers, whose power increases when they die—the remedy provided by becoming aware of metaphor; and second, that the metaphysics that still dominates science and enthralls the minds of men is nothing but a metaphor, and a limited one.

With this purpose in turn, I proceed to test these two metaphors. Having concluded that the competition can be conducted between different metaphors, I find that tests rarely resorted to reveal themselves. But it would be premature to apply them without first putting the metaphors to work within a specific subject matter where they can be used to produce different theories capable of being tested by those canons customarily used to test any scientific theory. Accordingly, I test the father of the machine model, namely, the geometrical model, against the language model in the concrete problem of vision, a subject still so dogmatically illustrated—as it has been for more than two thousand years—by the geometrical model that the mask is mistaken for the face. I try to show that the language model peculiarly illuminates this ancient problem of how we see, shedding a bright light on dark areas dimly lit by its great rival.

In order to develop my theme I needed two sorts of illustration, the one showing what it is to use metaphor, the other what it is to be used by it. Victims of metaphor were easy to find, for they have been legion. Although I might have exhibited more recent case histories, I chose those of Descartes and Newton for the reasons already given. It was more difficult to find illustrations of the sustained use of metaphor, for there are hardly any to be had. The chief candidates, so far as I was concerned, were Freud’s Interpretation of Dreams, Plato’s Republic, and Berkeley’s two essays on vision. These masterpieces offer the nearest approximations known to me of the deliberate and sustained application of an extended metaphor—that is, a model—to a concrete problem. But they are only approximations. Their authors eventually fell into the same trap as all the other victims. Having invented their new metaphors, and having used them with great skill, apparently with awareness of what they were doing, they were then so beguiled by the charm of their creations that they mistook these interpretations for the things interpreted. They took their own metaphors literally, their make-believe for the real thing. It was as though general contentment had been given a uniform.

Nevertheless, any one of these could have been remade to satisfy one of my purposes as a counter-illustration of the abuse of an extended metaphor. But only one might be made to satisfy all ray purposes. I wanted a metaphor rich in connotation, powerful and flexible in application, and familiar to all, that would have a chance of competing with the machine in the particular and in the general: by showing up its weak illumination of a particular problem and by suggesting an alternative myth. It seemed to me that the language metaphor might fill these requirements. Accordingly, I chose Berkeley’s attempt to represent the facts of one sort (vision) in the idioms appropriate to another (language). This he made in two short works: An Essay towards a New Theory of Vision, in 1709, and The Theory of Vision Vindicated and Explained, in 1733.{1}

In Chapters IV, V, and VIII of my book, I adopt much of this theory as well as much of Berkeley’s account of the properties he specified in his model, while making modifications to suit my needs. In order to avoid tediousness in presentation, I give references to Berkeley’s writings only at the ends of paragraphs. My main modifications are as follows: While he kept the language metaphor well hidden, I bring it into the open. Moreover, while he fell into inconsistencies—especially a grave one at the heart of the theory, concerning the visible and the tangible square, which spoiled his theory—I try to remove them. Finally, he fell into the inevitable trap. Having pretended that vision is a language, and having kept up this pretense with great success, he dropped it: Vision is the language of the Author of Nature. It was as though, finding the old sorts of theological argument outmoded, he decided to offer a modern parable which, in the telling, ceased to be a parable and became literal truth. What I try to do is to keep the metaphor vividly alive throughout.

It would not have been possible to write this book without the generous assistance of the University of Rochester. I wish to record my thanks to the University and especially to W. Albert Noyes, Jr., Lewis Beck, and Jerome Stolnitz. I wish also to thank the American Philosophical Society and the American Council of Learned Societies for research grants and the Ford Foundation for aid in publication. To those who took the trouble to read and comment upon my work I am deeply grateful, especially to Vasco Ronchi, Peter Winch, and John Stewart. I am grateful to Lincoln Canfield who helped me with the phonetic characters, to Richard Ball who drew the diagrams, and to Rudolf Kingslake and Duncan Drew.

C. M. T.

University of Rochester

March 1961

PART ONE — FINDING THE METAPHOR

CHAPTER I — The Nature of Metaphor

1. Using Metaphor

HOWEVER appropriate in one sense a good metaphor may be, in another sense there is something inappropriate about it. This inappropriateness results from the use of a sign in a sense different from the usual, which use I shall call sort-crossing. Such sort-crossing is the first defining feature of metaphor and, according to Aristotle, its genus:

Metaphor (meta-phora) consists in giving the thing a name that belongs to something else; the transference (epi-phora) being either from genus to species, or from species to genus, or from species to species, or on the grounds of analogy.{2}

Thus metaphor is logically indistinguishable from trope, the use of a word or phrase in a sense other than that which is proper to it. Aristotle apparently regarded the features that distinguish metaphor from trope as psychological, but he did not specify them. What these differentiae are, which make the chief problem of metaphor, I shall consider shortly.

Notice how wide Aristotle’s definition is. Metaphor comprehends all those figures that some distinguish as: synecdoche (sort-crossing from genus to species or vice versa, for example, treating the university as of the same sort as a building on the campus, or the division as a battalion or battery); metonymy (giving the thing a name that belongs to an attribute or adjunct, for example, sceptre for authority, or the crown for the sovereign); catachresis (giving the thing which lacks a proper name a name that belongs to something else, which includes the use of ordinary words in a technical sense, for example, Berkeley’s idea and Whitehead’s point); and metaphor (giving the thing which already has a proper name a name that belongs to something else on the grounds of analogy, for example, That utensil! applied to Mussolini by Churchill, metal fatigue, and Man is a wolf). Aristotle’s discernment in treating analogical sort-crossing, to which many restrict the name metaphor, as only one species of metaphor, is commendable. That the resemblance theory of metaphor is inadequate has been cogently argued by Max Black who concludes that it would be more illuminating to say that in some cases the metaphor creates the similarity than to say that it formulates some similarity antecedently existing.{3} Metaphor often is grounded on such similarity but need not be. It might be grounded on revelation.

Wide as Aristotle’s definition is I make it wider. Without stretching his meaning unduly, I interpret his singular name to mean either a proper name, a common name, or a description expressible as a phrase, a sentence, or even a book. In which case a more adequate presentation of the defining feature of metaphor I am now considering is made by Gilbert Ryle. Metaphor consists in the presentation of the facts of one category in the idioms appropriate to another.{4} As with Aristotle’s definition the fundamental notion expressed here is that of transference from one sort to another or, for short, of sort-crossing. Thus defined, metaphor comprehends some cases of the model and also of the allegory, the parable, and the enigma which, from Aristotle’s point of view, would be cases of extended metaphor, I should point out, however, that although this definition admirably suits my purposes, it is not Ryle’s definition of metaphor at all. It is, indeed, his definition of category-mistake, and is therefore basic to his correction of the dominant modern theory of mind.

The definition is still not wide enough. Some cases of metaphor may not be expressed in words. Again without stretching Aristotle’s meaning unduly, I interpret his name to mean a sign or a collection of signs. This will allow artists who speak in paint or clay to speak in metaphor. Michelangelo, for example, used the figure of Leda with the swan to illustrate being lost in the rapture of physical passion, and the same figure of Leda, only this time without the swan, to illustrate being lost in the agony of dying. It will also allow the concrete physical models of applied scientists, the blackboard diagrams of teachers, the toy blocks of children that may be used to represent the battle of Trafalgar, and the raised eyebrow of the actor that may illustrate the whole situation in the state of Denmark, to be classified as metaphor.

Such an extraordinary extension of the meaning may seem absurd. This, the traditional view, is expressed by W. Bedell Stanford: "If the term metaphor be let apply to every trope of language, to every result of association of ideas and analogical reasoning, to architecture, music, painting, religion, and to all the synthetic processes of art, science, and philosophy, then indeed metaphor will be warred against by metaphor...and how then can its meaning stand?"{5} This objection to the identification of metaphor with trope is, of course, valid. It therefore seems to be valid against Aristotle’s definition and my extension of it which, because they blur needed distinctions, should be discarded. But all that follows is that sort-crossing, by itself, is not enough to define metaphor. Other features are needed. Aristotle probably realized this. Apparently noticing no logical distinction between metaphor and trope, he correctly gave the trope as the genus of metaphor, and then correctly distinguished its various species which were different logical kinds of sort-crossing. But this is where he stopped. Having offered one defining feature, he was desiderating others that constitute a new dimension. Not every sort-crossing is a metaphor, but every sort-crossing is potentially a metaphor. We need this initial width which I now proceed to whittle down.

The use of metaphor involves the pretense that something is the case when it is not. That pretense is involved is only sometimes disclosed by the author. Descartes said: "I have hitherto described this earth, and generally the whole visible world, as if it were merely a machine."{6} But just as often metaphors come unlabeled. Michelangelo made no meta-sculptural inscription on the base of the sculpture Night disclosing that he had borrowed the Leda figure to illustrate the nature of death, although the initiated knew that he had. Nor did Churchill say that he was using the name utensil figuratively.

That pretense is involved is not revealed by the grammar. There is no significant difference grammatically between each of these pairs:

Yet I am inclined to say that only the second members involve metaphor. In the examples the two different things or sorts referred to in each pair share the same name, and it is as if they share other things as well. When I say that the timber-wolf is a wolf I am actually giving to timber-wolves a name that belongs to other wolves, and I mean that the timber-wolf is a sort included in the larger sort wolf; or that timber-wolves share with other wolves all the defining properties of wolf; or that timber-wolves are included in the denotation of wolf. On the other hand, when I say that man is a wolf (metaphorically speaking) I am actually giving him a name shared by all other wolves just as if I believe that he is another sort of wolf like the timber-wolf or the Tasmanian wolf, sharing with them all the defining properties of wolf, or sharing with them inclusion in the denotation of wolf. But though I give him the same name I do not believe he is another sort of wolf. I only make believe he is. My words are not to be taken literally but only metaphorically. That is, I pretend that something is the case when it is not, and I implicitly ask my audience to do the same.

But more clarity is needed on the matter of what is pretense and what is not. Certainly when I use a metaphor there is no pretense about the name-transference. Man actually shares the name wolf. But it is pretense that man is a sort of wolf. However, something besides the name is transferred from wolves to men. I do not merely pretend that man shares the properties of wolves; I intend it. What these properties are I may, but need not, specify. They cannot be all the properties common to wolves, otherwise I should intend that man is actually a wolf. Thus when I say that man is a wolf (metaphorically speaking) I intend that he shares some of the properties of wolves but not enough of them to be classified as an actual wolf—not enough to let him be ranged alongside the timber-wolf and the Tasmanian wolf. Or when